


Things Are Gonna Change So Fast

by kittensmctavish



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF, US Comedians RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Award Nominees, Awards Presentation, Bisexual Character, Coping, Don't copy to another site, F/F, Father's Day, Father-Daughter Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, John Mulaney References, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, Mother's Day, Not Beta Read, Single Parents, Terminal Illnesses, Tragedy/Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish
Summary: Yes indeed, life was pretty good. Then your father gets sick.(Or: A really sad fic for Father's Day, oops.)
Relationships: Kate McKinnon/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Things Are Gonna Change So Fast

**Author's Note:**

> you wouldn't know from this fic and the last fic i wrote, but i promise, i am capable of writing happy things. i'll try to write more of said happy things in the future.
> 
> WARNING: this fic deals with the death of a father and the grief that comes with it. if you're not up for that, i don't suggest reading this.
> 
> the title comes from the song "winter" by tori amos. spoiler alert: it's a hella emotional song about a father-daughter relationship.
> 
> i know precisely zero of the people mentioned in this fic. and hope to god they never Ever EVER see this.

Life could definitely be worse.

A blossoming career in stand-up comedy, leading to a stint as a featured player on “Saturday Night Live” before being promoted to repertory player. (Something you swear your dad was more excited about than you were sometimes, given his status as a life-long fan of the show, ever since its first episode.)

Meeting and befriending the woman who would soon be your girlfriend and the love of your life, Kate McKinnon.

Continuing to do stand-up between seasons, leading to a deal with Netflix, who intend to tape the routine you’re planning for the coming summer (even if you haven’t written a lick of anything for it yet).

Yes indeed, life was pretty good.

Then your father gets sick.

Mild at first, before leading to a stint in the hospital, before leading to hospice care.

Because damned if your dad is gonna die in the confines of a hospital proper. At least in a hospice, he can at least PRETEND it’s home, or a home of sorts. At his own insistence.

Still alert enough to watch your show every week, and whenever you go to visit him (more and more frequently the more and more his condition deteriorates), he talks about his favorite bits, how great you were as this character or in that sketch, gives you a list of “Weekend Update” jokes to give to Colin and Michael. (They’re…okay. Not great. But you still give the lists to Colin and Michael, to make your dad happy.)

Eventually, the illness reaches a point where the hospice staff tell you to keep your phone on hand at all times, because it’s only a matter of days now. They will do their best to call you with enough time to guarantee you goodbyes to your father.

Kate joins you on a visit on that last Sunday, to say her own goodbyes. Asks your dad if there’s any character of hers that he wants to see in the coming week’s episode; she’ll try to make it happen.

There is a moment where he asks you to step out so he can talk to Kate alone. You acquiesce with no argument. Don’t ask why when you go back in to say bye to your dad, that you’ll see him in a few days.

He can’t wait to see you on the show this weekend. It’s gonna be a good one.

***

“…what did Dad want to talk to you about?” you ask Kate when you get into your apartment. Kate purses her lips, fiddles with her keys for a bit, the jingling sound prompting Nino to run over with a curious meow.

“…I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you,” she says. “He didn’t tell me one way or the other if I was.” You nod.

“You don’t have to tell me, then. Not unless you feel like it’s something I need to know.” Kate nods again, dropping her keys in a little dish on the kitchen counter.

“…you know, if you wanted to skip this week’s episode,” Kate begins, pausing as you shake your head. “No one would blame you if you needed the week off.”

“I would blame me,” you say. “Dad expects to see me on this week, so I’m gonna be there.”

“Babe…” Kate pauses. “…he might not live long enough to see it.”

You nod. “I know. But the possibility that he MIGHT means I’m doing the show anyway. …unless that call comes that night.” Kate presses her lips together before nodding.

“If you change your mind…”

Nino meows. One of the more growly “Pay attention to me, moms” meows.

“Aw, have we been neglecting you, buddy?” you coo as you pick him up. “I’m sorry, sweetie…” You walk into the living room as you nuzzle Nino, who purrs contentedly at the affection. You kiss the top of his head.

“Nino…being human really sucks sometimes,” you whisper, a couple of tears falling into his fur. “I don’t recommend it.”

***

Come Monday, you knock on the door to Colin and Michael’s office.

“Brought you something,” you say, taking a piece of paper out of your pocket and unfolding it. “Latest batch of jokes from my dad.” Colin skims over it before handing it to Michael, as you put voice to the illegible scrawls your dad’s handwriting has become.

“Well...these are great. Tell your dad thanks. We’ll definitely consider them.”

Every week since your dad started doing that, they’ve said this. And every week, it feels sadder and sadder. Hell, you swear you see tears in Colin’s eyes as he “reads” over it.

It’s not much longer after that before it’s time for the initial “pile into Lorne’s office and throw out ideas for sketches” meeting.

Bill Hader’s the host for the week. When you’d told your dad, his face lit up. Bill had always been one of his favorites from the newer seasons.

“So…” you say before the discussion of sketches can get too focused, “I know I’ve said in recent weeks that I’d be getting a phone call and I’d have to leave…” You stare at the toes of your shoes as you talk. “That’ll be this week. I just don’t know when. So…just a heads-up on that front.” From next to you, Kate takes your hand, squeezing it tight.

“You do whatever you need to,” Michael says. “Whenever you gotta leave, you leave.” You nod.

“What’s going on?” Bill asks. As some people speak up, in hushed tones, either saying not to ask or they’ll explain later, you lift your head to look him in the eye.

“My dad’s dying.”

It’s the first time anyone in that room, besides Kate, has heard you put your situation so bluntly. That you’ve said he was DYING. They seem to flinch at it. Up to this point, it’s been that “he hasn’t been doing well” or “it’s just a matter of time now” or other, softer ways to put words to the terrible.

“Oh.” Bill looks sort of guilty for having asked.

“It’s fine, you didn’t know,” you say, looking back down at your notebook of scribbled-down sketch ideas. “We can move on to the episode now. I just wanted to let everyone know…”

Colin steps right up and takes things from there.

Because Bill’s a former cast member, there’s discussion of which of his characters, if any, to bring back for the episode. Kate suggests one that both of you know had always been your dad’s favorites, without voicing that reason. It gets put in the “maybe” pile.

Another “screen tests for famous movie” sketch is proposed, within a timeline for Bill to bust out the Alan Alda again. Everyone goes around the room throwing out the names of impressions they can do of people from that era. For yourself, you say the name of a less popular/more obscure celebrity. Without saying that it’s the impression, out of all impressions you can do, that’s made your dad laugh the hardest.

Outside of that, you remain fairly quiet through the discussions, though you get the feeling no one blames you that much. Not that you don’t have ideas. It’s just…one of them, at least, you wanted to talk about with a smaller group of people.

So indeed, when people break to begin brainstorming scripts (Kate brushing a kiss to your cheek before she runs off with Cecily and Aidy), you walk up to Colin as he speaks to Bill and Michael.

“You change your mind?” Michael asks. “Decide you wanted not to do this week’s episode at all?”

“You kidding?” you say, looking over at Bill. “Been wanting to get a chance to make this man break on camera for ages.”

“Funny,” Bill deadpans. “…but seriously, if you need to take off…I mean, I know if it was me and my dad was—”

“Well, I’m not you, and it’s not your dad,” you snap, immediately wincing afterwards. “…sorry.” Colin reaches out to touch your shoulder but you shrug it off before turning to him. “Anyway, I have, like…a rough outline for something.”

“What’s the sketch?”

You explain the gist of the sketch, what character Bill would play in it, read out some of the lines you had in mind.

“I know it’s pretty much, like, last-sketch-of-the-night material or whatever, but…” You look down and flip through some of your notes, seeing if there’s anything you forgot to mention in your little private schpiel.

“And you’re gonna be okay doing this sketch?” Michael asks.

“Yeah.” A few moments of silence cause you to look up, and you see all three men looking at each other warily. “I’ll be FINE.” They don’t look convinced. “Look, you can choose a backup if I can’t be there or…you know, do a different sketch. Or we don’t have to do it at all, I just…wanted to run it by you.”

“Well…why don’t you work on it, and we’ll see how it turns out,” Colin suggests.

“I can help,” Bill offers. “Oh, I could also call in Mulaney to help with this week. He owes me.”

“Okay,” Colin says, jotting down a note. “Why don’t you two get started then?” You nod, stepping away quickly before either Colin or Michael and get the chance to provide any additional words of support or gestures of comforting. Bill has to jog to catch up with you.

“Looking forward to working with you,” he says as his step evens with yours. “You’ve kinda been killing it on the show since you started.”

“Bet you say that to everyone,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But thank you.” You open the door to the office you share with Kate, finding it empty. “When I told my dad you were hosting this week, he got so excited. You were one of his favorite cast members.”

“Tell him thank you for me,” Bill says, with a smaller smile than before.

“Yeah. He’s really looking forward to the show.”

Neither of you put voice to the fact that your father likely won’t live to see the episode air.

***

Your phone barely leaves your side through the week. Pretty much only when you shower, and even then, you ask Kate to keep an eye on it.

When you’re able to get some sleep (or when Kate pulls you away from the all-night writing jag that is Tuesday to GET some sleep), you still don’t much, constantly opening your eyes to tap the screen and see if you missed any calls or messages. Even though you have vibrate on and the ringer set to max volume.

Every buzz makes you tense up. Even though they said they’d call, you still think, for some reason, they may decide to text instead. (It’s never them.)

Wednesday’s table read finds you with so little sleep in your system and your nerves resembling frayed wires, coffee and anxiety the only things keeping you awake.

So when your ringtone starts blaring, it makes you jump in your seat violently, a “FUCK!” escaping your lips at both the startle from your phone, and the coffee you accidentally knocked over with an inadvertent flail of your arm. Aidy JUST manages to scoot back in time to avoid getting caught in the spillage.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mutter, trying to, with one hand, mop up the coffee spill with your script before any more of it can spill on to the floor, and with the other hand, scramble to look at the screen of your phone, at the caller ID.

Not the hospice. “Unknown number.”

“Oh, FUCK…” Coffee and sodden scripts be damned, your forehead hits the table with a loud enough thud to make others jump and probably worry about the state of your head, but some of the tension seeps out of your body.

“Was that—” someone begins to ask you.

“No, no…no it wasn’t,” you say, lifting your head again, scrubbing a hand over your eyes. “I’m so sorry about…” You look over the table again. “Fuck, guys, I’m sorry, I can clean this up…”

“I’ll come with you,” Aidy says, standing. “To grab some paper towels. I need a refill anyway.” She holds up her water bottle (still rather full, though no one can see that’s the case).

The room is still quiet after you and Aidy step out. Kate reaches over the table to look at your phone. After reading the screen, she pushes it back before taking her own leave from the room, as Colin begins to say something about contingency plans for filling the (few) roles you have in sketches, in case you can’t be there for the live show.

Kate ducks into the bathroom, turns on one of the sinks, runs some water over her hands before cupping her palms to gather it. She leans over the sink to splash the water on to her face, once, twice. The third time, her hands don’t move from her face, elbows propped up on either side of the sink as the water continues to run.

At the sound of someone turning off the water for her, Kate stands upright, withdraws her hands, looks over at Cecily.

“Hey,” she says, clearing her throat and shaking water off of her hands. “Should you still be at table read?”

“Taking a little break for now,” Cecily says, handing Kate a paper towel. “Or at least, going over whatever Mikey and Alex cooked up for the week.”

“Hmm.” Kate dabs the paper towel over her face, at her forehead, her chin, beneath her eyes.

“…how are you holding up?” Cecily asks. The paper towel stills. “I know this is hard on her, but…I mean, you’re her girlfriend, I imagine it’s hard for you, too.” Kate nods, tries to keep her face from crumpling, lets out a sigh.

“Is it horrible of me to say I hope it happens sooner rather than later?” Kate admits, paper towel balling up in her hand. “I mean… I don’t want him to die, obviously I don’t. I hate that she’s losing him. I just…and I know once it happens, it’s gonna be worse, but…then it will have happened, and there’s no more waiting game, no more wondering when. I…” Cecily reaches over to touch Kate’s shoulder, and Kate leans into Cecily, resting her head against Cecily’s shoulder as Cecily hugs her. “I just hate seeing her like this.”

“I know,” Cecily says, smoothing a hand over Kate’s hair. “We all hate it, but…I imagine it’s ten times worse for you.” Kate nods against the fabric of Cecily’s shirt, trying to steady herself with a deep breath.

“I feel like I don’t know how to help her right now,” Kate says, sniffling. “I’m trying, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“You’re doing great,” Cecily assures her. “…and you know we’re all here for you. BOTH of you.” Kate nods and squeezes Cecily in thanks. “Are you gonna go with her when she gets the call?” Kate shakes her head.

“Not unless she changes her mind and wants me there,” Kate says. “No, I…I said my goodbyes on Sunday and…” Kate lets some tears fall. “I can’t tell you what he said, but god, Cecily, it’s just…”

Cecily tightens her hold on Kate as she begins to cry in earnest.

Kate hasn’t seen you cry much, if at all, this week. She knows you’re trying to hold it all until after your father passes. In private. After the show. So goddamn it, she’ll do some of the crying for you.

***

Kate walks in on Saturday, alone, making a beeline for Lorne’s office. And thank god, Colin and Michael are there, too, as is Bill.

“The call came in,” she says, interrupting whatever they’re discussing. “Late last night, early this morning, um…” GOD, her hands are shaking. “I don’t know how long…if she’ll be…”

She pauses as Michael scoops her into a hug, Colin following suit shortly after.

“Should we put a kibosh on the last sketch then?” Bill asks. “I know we said someone could step in for her but…no one else felt comfortable doing that given…”

“That’s actually why I came here,” Kate says, digging into her purse for something. “Lorne…there’s something I wanted to run by you for that sketch, for…” She presses a palm to her forehead. “Sorry.”

“Take your time,” Lorne says as Michael and Colin escort her to a chair.

Haltingly, Kate explains what she wants to do for the end of the show. As she speaks, she’s already certain Lorne will say “no” to the idea. But to her amazement, slight relief, and overwhelming gratitude, he says yes. Whether or not you’re there, whether or not that sketch makes it through, he’ll arrange for the thing she’s requesting regardless.

***

The rest of the morning and afternoon are spent on pins and needles, Kate now the one checking her phone with irrational frequency. Just to see if you have a status update on if you’ll be there, if you won’t, if he’s still hanging on. But nothing from you. (She supposes she understands, but at the same time, it’s slightly agony.)

So right about at the time producers are calling for everyone to prepare for dress rehearsal, you run in with frantic apologies that don’t match the disconcertingly blank look on your face.

No one asks. No one wants to ask.

“…an hour…hour and a half ago…” you say, looking at a clock on the wall. “He wasn’t in pain or anything, he just…kinda went to sleep and never woke up.”

Kate watches you swallow hard, like you’re trying not to be sick. A couple of people move towards you, but you hold up a hand.

“No one hug me until after the show, I can’t…” You shake your head. “Just…no.”

“Are you okay to do the show?”

“Yes, Colin, I’m doing the show.”

“But—”

“PLEASE.” There’s enough desperation in your voice to stop Colin. “…one of the last things my dad said was that he hoped we had a good show, and that he was sorry he wouldn’t be able to see it. I promised him I would be here. I…” Your voice waver more and more as you speak that you have to pause to steady it again. “I can’t break one of the last promises I ever made to my dad. I can’t do that. Please.” No replay. “If the show bombs, you can blame me, fire me, whatever, but…I am doing the goddamn show.”

More than anything, Kate wants to gather you into her arms and hold you tight and let you shatter, like she knows you’ve been trying to hard not to do. But she refrains.

“…okay,” Colin finally says. “If you change your mind—”

“Thank you,” you say with a nod before heading off to the dressing room, Kate right behind you.

The two of you prepare in silence, Kate sitting still for the prosthetics for one of the many terrible old white men she plays for political cold opens.

“…I’m sorry.” She turns when she hears you speak. “I know I’ve been…” You pause, starting over. “You’ve wanted to help me more this week, and I haven’t let you. I know I’ve kind of…closed myself off. And it’s really not fair to you. And I’m sorry.”

Hearing you apologize for how you’ve been in the week your father died…it makes Kate want to cry that much harder.

“It’s okay, babe,” she says, voice a little choked, offering a tearful smile. You reach out to hold her hand.

“I love you. You know that, right?” Kate nods.

“I love you, too.” She wants to add to it…that she’s here for you…that she’s so sorry about what’s (almost literally) just happened…but with the moratorium you put on such “niceties,” she bites her tongue.

You squeeze her hand once before letting it go, turning back to your costume.

***

You get through dress rehearsal with no outward sign of emotional turmoil (to the audience, anyway). Although catching enough of “Weekend Update” to hear Michael reading one of the jokes your dad had written—one of the ones that had actually garnered something of a chuckle from him and Colin—makes you nearly stumble into Aidy in the hallway. (It makes it into the live show, too, which…they really did not need to do and did anyway and you don’t quite know how to feel about it.)

Anyway, your performance through dress rehearsal seems to be enough of a sign that you will be just fine to do the live show.

Besides, you’re not in many of the live sketches to begin with. A crowd scene for one, no lines. The second walk-on in the Herb Welch sketch (Bill and Kate carrying the bulk of it, a fan’s dream come true). The taped “screen tests” segment. And then the final sketch.

The premise is as follows: you and your partner (played by Kate) bringing the last of the boxes into your new apartment, in a new city, away from where your father lives. She says something about getting started on unpacking the kitchen, as your phone rings with a phone call from your dad (played by Bill, in a split-screen).

Some of the usual daughter and older dad banter, too many questions about how the move went, asking for help with something technological, the fact that he still owns a flip phone as opposed to a smartphone, outdated references that scream “John Mulaney helped write this” (which he did).

The thing is, it was based around phone calls you’d had with your own dad. Who also made similar references to outdated pop culture, if not more skewed towards things only people who grew up where you grew up would know.

And another thing is, and something you haven’t told Bill, but…Bill, in some respects, scarily resembles your dad when he’d been younger. If you looked at an older picture of your father, it’s not like they could be twins or anything, but there’s definitely enough of a resemblance that one could question them being distantly related, in some fashion.

And as the sketch plays on, Bill just…SOUNDS like your dad. Like, whatever accent and voice he puts on sounds more and more like your dad, and you feel yourself trembling, hoping it’s not visible to the camera.

You try to suppress it, keep it together as the sketch nearing the end with Bill saying “Well, I should let you go, kiddo” (something your dad had always called you.)

“Hey dad?” you ask.

“Yeah?” he responds.

It’s supposed to be a simple exchange of “I love you’s” to close it all out. And it went like that in dress rehearsal.

But the later it gets, the more and more it sinks in what happened in the afternoon, the more and more of a resemblance Bill takes of your father…you feel yourself breaking, and reach up to cover your face as a tear falls before you get a chance to hold it back. But not even your palm can completely mask an audible sob.

“Everything okay, kiddo?” Bill asks, trying to cover any wrong-going in the sketch.

“Yeah, I just…” You uncover your face, closing your eyes, which loosens more tears, and…admit the truth.

“I miss you already, Dad.”

It’s a broken confession. You swear you hear someone crying from the sidelines.

“…I miss you too, kiddo.” You can’t look over at Bill to see if he’s crying too, but it sounds like it enough that another sob escapes you, and you cover your mouth again to at least keep any more quiet. “…it’s going to be okay…okay, kiddo?”

You have no idea how Bill knows to say the exact kind of things your dad would say when you’d had similar breakdowns over the phone to him. But the fact that he DOES just makes it that much harder to close out the sketch.

“Okay,” you finally respond, when you think you can.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

You hear the flip phone snap to a close, prompting you to blindly press at the screen of your prop phone to hang up before covering your face and allowing yourself to sob. The phone slips from your hand in the process, clattering to the floor.

It wasn’t part of the script—NONE of this was—but Kate walks back on from the exit to the kitchen, and pulls you into her arms, whispering choked “It’s okay’s” into your ear and kissing the top of your head as you break down.

And then, breaking all other illusion to the sketch, more and more of your fellow cast members run on to join in hugging you as the lights fade out, to some audible crying from one or to members in the audience.

As the stage lights dim, something comes up on the screen where filmed sketches are played.

Normally, when a previous cast member or writer has passed away, some sort of quick “in memoriam” will be displayed to remember them and their contributions to the show (or, for more prominent cast members, a previous sketch will be played).

What shows is a picture of a younger you, and your father. The picture Kate had dropped off to Lorne this morning with the idea of doing this following this sketch Text at the top fades in, with your dad’s name, followed by the caption “SNL’s Biggest Fan.” Text at the bottom fades in a moment later, listing the date of his birth and the date of his death.

A flurry of gasps, murmurs, and “Oh’s” with the reveal that your dad had died just earlier today. That you still performed for him, and that this last sketch was your way of saying goodbye to him.

It’s no wonder you broke down near the end. No wonder that cast members are still crying as Bill says his thank you’s and goodbyes to the audience. No wonder the band’s credits music sounds more subdued than normal episodes.

“Saturday Night Live” doesn’t go for the heartstrings TOO terribly often. It’s a comedy show, first and foremost.

But when it does have moments like this…one can’t really fault them or complain. They usually have just as much of an effect.

***

You have absolutely no argument when it comes to take bereavement leave for the week (or two, if you deem it necessary). You have to meet with lawyers, arrange a funeral, make phone calls (so many phone calls).

Kate takes a few days off as well. To help you. There are times through the rush of everything that needs to get done where you just…can’t handle it, and she steps in to handle discussions of what everything means, talk to the lawyers.

It’s not as much to sort out as it could be. When it had become clear your dad wouldn’t be recovering, the two of you had already taken care of some of it. He hadn’t wanted to leave you floundering.

Sympathy cards come piling in, from friends and family. And quite a few arrive at the studio, which Pete volunteers to bring over.

“Sorry they’ve…kinda been opened already,” he says sheepishly. “Security needed to make sure there was nothing incendiary in them.”

“Makes sense,” you say, taking the stack of envelopes from him. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?”

He does stay for a bit; once Nino leaps up on to the couch and settles into Pete’s lap, he’s pretty much stuck there until Nino decides he’s ready to leave.

“…so…I can’t say I know exactly what you’re going through but…” Pete begins. “…if you want, or need, the number of a good grief counselor or…someone…” He pauses. “At least…there’s someone I see when I need to talk about my dad and…she’s kinda wonderful so…just wanted to offer. Or even if you ever just…wanted to talk to me. We can grieve over our dads together. If that’s not…completely terrible to say.”

“Thanks, Pete,” is all you feel comfortable in saying as a response.

“I mean…I know how your dad died and how my dad died aren’t the same at all,” Pete puts voice to what you’d refrained to say, “but…I don’t know, I guess I think the grief is kinda the same, in some respects.” You nod, sipping your tea.

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“…if you’d had to choose between…how your dad died and…I don’t know, him dying suddenly, like, a heart attack or something, would you have wanted that alternative?”

A very long pause.

“Sorry,” he says, scratching Nino’s head. “Stupid question. Really stupid question.”

“No, it’s…I guess I’d choose the third option of…not wanting him to die yet,” you finally say.

“…I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking about my dad and how old I was when he died and the circumstances surrounding it and my mom afterwards and…” Pete sighs. “I tried imagining losing him like you lost yours, like, in a hospital or something. And being there in his last moments, and…” He watches Nino shuffle around in his lap before stepping over his legs and leaping down on to the floor. “…I can’t. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you. That whole week. I’m honestly a little impressed you held it together through the episode as much as you did. I wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Thanks,” you say, with a wan smile. “…for what it’s worth, I can’t imagine having lost my dad in the way you lost yours. Regardless of the how, it’s just…a shitty life experience no matter what.”

“Yeah.”

“…and at least…you know, you still had your mom,” you can’t help but say. “Mine died giving birth to me so…I lost the only parent I ever knew. That just…” You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “I mean, I guess I should be grateful that he didn’t die when I was…like, still in school, but…he still should’ve had a good twenty years left, it just…”

Pete looks down at his clasped hands, shifts on the couch a little.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t think about…” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.”

You stare at Pete for a while before rising from your chair and walking over to hug him.

“It’s okay,” you assure him.

He means well. You know he means well. Nothing he says, as much as it feels like rubbing salt into a wound trying to heal, comes from a place of malice. Quite the opposite. He’s just trying to help, even if it doesn’t help much.

“So, how’s the week’s show coming?” you ask, settling on to the couch next to him, hoping your words don’t come across as too desperate of an attempt to change the subject.

“Coming along,” Pete says. “We miss you.”

“Aw…I’ll be back next week,” you say. “Don’t know how funny I’ll be, but I’ll certainly try.” Nino leaps up into your lap., You give him a scratch behind his ears. “Can you tell me about any of the sketches y’all are planning?”

Work talk is a nice distraction, and Pete’s “impressions” of your fellow friends-slash-cast members get you to laugh a little. But he says, really, you should probably just watch the show on Saturday night.

So you curl up on the couch, TV on, blank notebook next to you, and watch that night. It’s a decent episode. Some sketches have you aching to be there…they look so much fun.

Then come the thanks you’s and goodbyes, and once the host wraps up, Kate barrels her way to the front with a sign that says your name in all caps, along with the words “WE LOVE YOU.” She calls out the same message, echoed quickly by everyone else in the cast.

You laugh through your tears.

Kate gets home sooner than you expect, saying something about skipping out on the afterparty.

“What’d you think?” she says. You sit up slightly, to reach up for her and pull her down into a kiss. Without breaking the kiss, she sits, to make your position easier.

“You’re such a goof, and I love you,” you say after breaking the kiss.

“We were thinking about you a lot…” Kate says, kissing your cheek. “Missing you.” She pecks your lips again. “I love you, too.”

After another kiss or two, she spots your notebook.

“What are you writing?”

“Ugh…” You sigh, resting your head against the arm of the couch. “Trying to write a eulogy for the funeral.” Kate strokes your hair.

Writing comedy feels like pulling teeth sometimes, but writing your father’s eulogy is, by far, the hardest thing you’ve ever written.

“Want me to help?” Kate asks, pulling you over to rest your head in her lap.

“I don’t know…” You sigh. “It just…it feels like there’s not enough time to say everything I want to say. Like…anything I say won’t be enough.” Kate leans down to kiss your forehead.

“You’ve still got a couple of days,” Kate says. “I’ll be your sounding board, if you want.”

How you end up writing it is writing down everything you WANT to share, then trying to sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. Leave out most of the longer stories or more joking bits, keep the more funereal things. Kate ends up providing some input, when it all overwhelms you to the point of tears.

You hold on to the notes with the “chaff.” You’re not really sure why.

***

That is, you’re not really sure why until someone from Netflix gets in contact, asking about your plan for your standup this summer. Whether you still intend to perform (if you cancel, it’s completely understandable, they won’t penalize you or anything). If so, can you provide them with an idea, so they can start brainstorming posters or advertising blurbs.

You come across the discarded notes from the long-since-given eulogy. And you glance over at a stack of boxes you haven’t had a chance to sort through yet, labeled “ALBUMS.”

You start brainstorming. Then you start writing. Well into the night, long after Kate goes to sleep. You write and sort and make notes in the margins. You dig in boxes full of photo albums, flip through the pages, looking for certain ones, scroll through your phone for more recent photos.

In the morning, after a few hours’ sleep. You hand your writings over to Kate.

“I think I have my routine for the summer,” you say. “I need you to tell me if it’s any good.”

She takes the afternoon to read it over, asking a question every now and again as to a note or a descriptor of sorts.

When she’s finished, she closes your notebook, stands up, and hands it back to you.

“I think it’s some of your best work,” she says with glossy eyes. “I love it.”

You get into contact with Netflix, your producers, your director. Tell them your ideas, what you want to do, ask how you can make certain things happen through the set when it comes to visuals.

It’s this or nothing, you tell them. You’re not going to be capable of a different set.

Your director, thankfully, also kinda loves what you’ve got. Wonders when you can come in for rehearsals.

Approval is a huge sigh of relief for you. And you start fine-tuning the set in its written form.

***

One week, you knock on the door to Colin and Michael’s office.

“Hey,” you greet. “So…I know it isn’t for a couple of weeks, but…I wanted to run something by you for the Mother’s Day episode.”

“Sure,” Colin says. “You have an idea?”

“I have a script,” you say, handing him the notebook. “All written out already.”

Colin reads over it. Then Michael does. Then they glance over it together.

“I know it’s not…entirely funny,” you begin to explain, “but…I mean, the Mother’s Day episode usually has a couple of things that are more heartwarming that just straight comedy, like, you know, the ‘Perfect Mother’ one from the Emma Thompson episode a few years back, so if that’s—”

“I love it.” Michael’s words bring your words to a halt. “I think it’s kinda brilliant.”

“Agreed,” Colin says, flipping the notebook shut and handing it back to you. “And there’s still some humor in there, don’t worry.”

“You think Lorne will be okay with it?” you ask.

“Lorne be damned, we’re filming that,” Michael insists. “That is, and no offense to your best funny work for the show, but that’s the best thing you’ve written for the show, PERIOD. You should be DAMN proud of that.”

“I’m guessing you’ll want to be in this,” Colin says. “Unless…you know, you wanted to…not be involved in that episode. We would understand.”

“No—I mean…we’ll see about the live episode when we get to that week, but…yes, I want to be in this one. It’s…really important to me.” Colin nods.

“…I just had an idea for this,” Michael says. He explains his light bulb moment. Colin’s face lights up at the suggestion, and he reaches for his phone to make a call.

Come time to film the segment, though he’s not hosting (given it’s the Mother’s Day episode, a woman is hosting, namely, Vanessa Bayer coming back to host for the first time), Bill steps on to set ready to play your dad again.

The segment you’d written starts with a couple of women (you and Vanessa) shopping in a store, Vanessa’s character thanking yours for helping her babysit for the day while the daughter’s father works. They pass by a row of Mother’s Day cards, which prompts Vanessa to stop and say she needs to pick one up for her mom. That prompts you to say you need to choose one, too.

“But…you don’t have a mom,” Vanessa says.

“I know,” you say, rifling through cards. “I buy one for my dad every year.”

“Why?” Vanessa asks.

“Because he’s had to be both a mom AND a dad for me,” you explain.

What follows are scenes between you and Vanessa interspersed with Bill-as-dad handling all of the things one would traditionally think of a daughter going to her mother for help for. At a young age, taking part of tea parties, painting nails, dressing up. You adore how the “Take Your Daughter to Work Day” turns out, Bill all business-y in a suit and a princess tiara, in a board meeting, and asking his “assistant” (his daughter dressed as a princess) what she thinks could help the company. The four-year-old actress playing the daughter improvises the line “More stickers”; it’s a better line than what you’d originally written as the response. Beck and the rest of the men in the meeting never, through any of those scenes, look at Bill with any derision or worries that he’s lost his mind. Rather, Beck makes a show of taking a note while saying “More stickers…great suggestion, your highness.”

Going into preteen years. The awkwardness of helping his daughter buy a bra for the first time. Receiving a call at work, Bill rushing out of his cubicle, panicked. Cut to Bill standing in the feminine hygiene products aisle, looking a little overwhelmed. Heidi, as a cashier, approaches, asking if he needs help. “Yeah, my daughter’s having her first…” Heidi understands, of course, she can help him out, they have a few great options right over here for young girls.

The father dealing with a swarm of judgmental PTA moms. (“I just think that the lack of a female presence in the home could be why your daughter’s so...misguided in who she’s supposed to like.” Bill: “You know what, Claire, maybe you should worry less about my daughter wanting to hold hands with a girl and worry more about your son a: calling my daughter a dyke, and b: cheating off my daughter’s paper during their recent math test.”)

Then you stepping in to play the daughter for the late teens. The dreaded “talk.” When they show you THAT video in health class. Bill-as-dad awkwardly asking if you had any questions for him about that. You IMMEDIATELY saying no…don’t worry, you don’t EVER want to get pregnant or do…THAT…with guys. Bill trying REALLY HARD not to sag in relief like “Oh, thank god.”

First crush. First date. Helping choose a dress for prom. (“Dad, which blue do you like better? The dark blue or the darker blue?” “They’re…both really nice.” “Ugh, Dad, you’re no help at all.”) Taking pictures for said prom. (Said prom scene based on your real-life prom: going with a guy friend as your date, but only because he couldn’t go with the boy he wanted to, and the girl who wanted to ask you couldn’t, because of the stupid homophobes at your school. So you went as a group and pretended to be boy-and-girl couples…for a bit, anyway.) (Funny thing is, Kyle, who plays your “prom date,” bears something of a resemblance to the guy you ACTUALLY “went to prom with.”)

“I was definitely…a horrible daughter sometimes…said a lot of hurtful things to him,” your voiceover says over a fight between father and daughter that can’t be heard until the very end. You screaming, “You’re not my mom, you’re my dad—you don’t understand!” before slamming the door to your room in his face, Bill looking slightly heartbroken in the wake.

“…but I never meant them,” the voiceover continues over Bill receiving a call, on the other line hearing you crying “Dad, can you come pick me up?”

“…and he never stopped loving me, in spite of the horrible things I said,” the voiceover finishes as you run to the car with a waiting Bill; what can be heard of your wails beneath the music and voiceover is something about someone breaking up with you, before Bill reaches over to hug you, let you cry into his shoulder, and kiss your forehead. You apologizing, you didn’t mean it; Bill consoling you.

Your character, in present time in the store, summing up to Vanessa why you buy your dad a Mother’s Day card, to a quick montage of other father-and-daughter scenes: dropping you off at college, at your graduation, walking you down the aisle at your wedding.

Vanessa looking thoughtful, before asking her charge if she would like to choose a card for her dad, The little girl nodding excitedly. Cut to a home, the girl running up to Alex as he walks through the door. Cut to later that night, Alex and daughter in the middle of a tea party when Vanessa says they have a surprise for him. Alex, still bedecked in tiara and feather boa, opening the Mother’s Day card, looking up at the flowers Vanessa holds, tearing up as he hugs his daughter with a “Thank you, sweetheart.”

To the end the segment, text overlaying a picture of you and Bill as your father:

“To all the fathers who are also mothers…Thank you.”

***

Holy shit, do people love the segment.

No one thinks it’s the funniest thing from the evening. But it’s not supposed to be, and that’s kind of the point.

One element appreciated about the segment is how none of the scenarios are played for the usual cheap laughs (“A man buying pads, IT’S FUNNY APPARENTLY; MEN aren’t supposed to do THAT”). Rather, any laughs come from the subversion of expectation, the meeting scene being a prime example. Rather than all the businesspeople looking at Bill’s father character like they’re gonna fire him any minute for, you know, being a working dad, they play along. Take the daughter as seriously as they take her father.

Probably the biggest appreciation, though, is for showing a side of single fatherhood that no one really thinks about too often, especially when it comes to raising a daughter. While neither the credits nor anyone else explicitly state you as the writer of the segment, the reviewers seem to just KNOW, based on your featuring in it, and the death of your father earlier in the year. It smacks of someone who grew up with these moments, plucking them from real life and putting them to paper. (There are SOME detractors who try to make the argument of you “making Mother’s Day all about dads instead of moms,” but these people get called out for missing the point completely.)

The casting of you as daughter and Bill as father is, in more than one review, described as a “heartbreaking callback” to the sketch from the episode earlier in the season that he hosted, where you two had closed out the sketch as father and daughter before the reveal of your real father’s passing. Your performances, however short they may be, are praised to hell and back. And they go ahead and praise your writing, even if just in hypothesis that it’s you.

You all but confirm it on Instagram the next day, posting a series of pictures. The first: a picture taken for the segment, of you and Bill. The second: A picture of you and your father, in the exact same position and dress as the picture from the segment. The third: a picture of your father’s grave, an envelope and a bouquet of flowers propped up against it.

The caption: _thank you for being my father and mother all of my life. i miss you every day. hope you didn’t mind bill stepping into your shoes for a spell._

***

Almost as soon as the season wraps up, you throw yourself into standup mode. Really, there’s a bit of overlap when it comes to prepping for the last episode of the season and rehearsing to make sure everything is set for your first performance.

Netflix arranges for your special to air the last week of May, following a taping of one of the first performances and a REALLY quick turnaround time to edit that shit together.

Normally, this doesn’t happen. Normally, it would be a couple months, or longer, before airing a relatively new standup special. However, your director and producers are convinced that you could be a serious Emmy contender with your routine. And in order for you to be considered eligible for that honor, things need to happen this quickly, so it can air before the cutoff time for Emmy eligibility.

You tell them that’s fine. You DON’T tell them that you honestly don’t care about awards (if Netflix is that hungry for another Emmy, though, whatever). You just want to perform. …well…need to perform.

The name of the special is “Eulogy.”

True to its name, the special centers around stories about your father. Your first line after the introduction is “Heeeeeeeeey, who’s ready to watch me try and cope for the next hour or so?”

You talk quite a bit about his love for “SNL.” How he’d been a fan from the very beginning (“He seriously considered naming me Gilda or Laraine”). How he dressed up as a different character from the show every year, with the pictures to prove it (this includes one year of you, as a child, as a tiny Spartan cheerleader). 

With that comes stories of his support for your career, from open mics in college and beyond. Always suggesting jokes, up to and through your “SNL” days.

Stories about who he was as a person. Who he was as a father. How your mother had passed away after complications giving birth to you.

And, of course, a lot of how you’re still trying to cope with his death.

“Grief, honestly, for me, feels a lot like that screensaver for DVDs when you left them paused for too long. Like, my grief is the logo, and my brain is the rest of the screen, and it’s just bouncing off all the walls and everything’s…mostly fine, like, I’m aware and sad but still functioning, and then there are those days where the logo lands in the corner, and I’m just like ‘Nope.’” You utter a few more “Nope’s” as you get to your knees to curl into a ball onstage. “Nope, can’t do it today, fam. It’s too much.”

You discuss how certain films or books or songs feel completely different following the loss of a parent. Especially songs. How they just hurt a lot more (“It DOES hurt AND suck to grow up. Thank you for that, Ben Folds. Now why is the father-to-son song you wrote so fucking angsty and the father-to-daughter song you wrote all sweet and innocent?”). Or how you understand them better (“I’ll have my music on shuffle and something from ‘Fun Home’ will come up and I just mcfreaking lose it. And I had a GOOD relationship with my dad, but still, I’ll hear a snippet of ‘Telephone Wire’ and then I’m all SAY SOMETHING, TALK TO ME!”)

That segues right into the bisexuality portion of the set. (“My first date with Kate, we went to see ‘Fun Home’ during its Broadway run. …hell of a first date, honestly; it started great, we happy-cried during ‘Changing My Major,’ then AGAIN at ‘Ring of Keys,’ after which we basically didn’t stop crying at all.”)

You’d asked Kate’s permissions after writing to talk about moments from your relationship, about the loss of her father at 18, how she’s been able to help you cope from her own experiences. She read over them, approved some things, suggested changes for others, nixed a few other things. She’s private in some respects, and your aim is not to speak for her, or portray her in a manner that she doesn’t want to be portrayed. You want to do right by her as well as your father.

But you don’t just talk about your own bisexuality.

“When I was in middle school and agonized over all the possible responses my father could have to my telling him I was bisexual, the words, ‘Oh thank god, so am I’?” Pause as the audience laughs. “Not on that list.”

Going into recounting how your dad, while he had indeed loved your mother and always would and missed her terribly, was interested in men as well as women. And how he’d struggled to find a way to tell you, until you managed to break that ice for the both of you. How you and Dad had actually gone to Pride together a few times. And how, the older you got and the more comfortable the two of you were in your identities as bisexual individuals, your father was more…open to you about some of his celebrity crushes.

“I didn’t need to know that my dad thought 1976!Lorne was a dreamboat. But I do. And now HE does. And now YOU do. And now I’m fired.”

Some of the last moments in the set address moments you wish you could have shared with your father. When you think it’s going to stop hurting as much as it does, if it EVER does, you’re honestly not sure.

“Like…I just know that…when I get married, I’m gonna have to cope all over again with the fact that…I won’t have that father-daughter dance. I won’t have my dad to be there to walk me down the aisle. …well, I mean...Bill Hader played my dad in a couple of sketches, maybe he can step in.”

You tried your best, through the set, to balance the maudlin with the funny without being tacky or offensive. To do right by your dad. To say everything you didn’t have time to say in your eulogy at his funeral, hence the name of the set.

Early reviews (that AREN’T from Kate or anyone biased towards you) seem to agree that you pulled it off beautifully. And they’re in agreement with Netflix; if you aren’t at least NOMINATED for an Emmy, it will be one of the greater snubs in recent memory.

***

As you perform the set over the summer, friends and colleagues and fellow cast members come to see the show. Sometimes you can spot them in the audience as your performing. And you can’t not take moments to address them.

“Oh, jesus, the guy who just bought a boat is here…” you sigh the night Alex is in the crowd. Then you spot who he’s sitting next to. “It REALLY shouldn’t surprise me that he came with the girl you wish you hadn’t started a conversation with at a party. That is a match made in purgatory.” They’re not there TOGETHER together. Just with a group to come support you.

Mikey brings his son. For…WHATEVER goddamn reason. “Really, dude? You okay with him listening to me swear? I can tone it down if you need me to.” You wave at them. “Hi, kid. Your daddy’s coworker is a grief-stricken basket case. Have fun watching me break down.”

John Mulaney attends one night. And you can’t NOT reference previous bits of his.

“I’m putting together a Father’s Day playlist,” so one of your lines goes. “It’s just ‘Winter’ by Tori Amos, and I’m gonna listen to it on repeat until it stops making me feel anything at all.”

That’s where the line normally ends. The night MULANEY’S there, however, you continue.

“It’ll be like the Salt and Pepper Diner only DEPRESSING AS FUCK.” You stare right at John as he cracks up, along with everyone else in the room. “I’m gonna throw in one instance of ‘Father and Daughter’ by Paul Simon just to mix it up. Get a whole new kind of sad in there.”

Through the run of the show, just about every one of your fellow cast members pops up in the audience at least once. Several of them come back for the last performance.

“Bet you’re all thinking, okay, she’s gotten all of the sadness out of her system, she’s gonna be much cheerier when the new season starts! …yeah, don’t place any bets on that.”

You’re actually COMPLETELY unaware the night Bill Hader attends. So after the joke about him walking you down the aisle, this gets brought to your attention by several audience members.

“…wait, he’s HERE?” you confirm, to a couple of affirmations. “FUCK.” The audience is half-laughter, half-applause as you set the microphone in the stand and walk offstage, pretending to bring an early end to things. After the moment passes, you come back on, apologize, and continue.

Asides from instances like this, there’s something kind of…wonderful in performing the set over and over. Discussing your grief and your father over and over. Like, the methodology and running through the same rhythms brings you a sort of calm and catharsis. Between the set and seeing an ACTUAL therapist for grief, the run goes better than you expect. And is more well-received than you expect.

Sure enough, an Emmy nomination for “Eulogy” rolls in, for Outstanding Writing for a Variety Special. However, it’s up against, amongst others, Mulaney. So you’re fairly certain your chances of winning are slim. They’ll give it to a special that’s more straight-up comedy.

“I dunno…” Kate tells you. “They gave it to Hannah Gadsby for ‘Nanette.’ You could pull off a win.”

“You sure you’re not talking about yourself?” you ask, referencing Kate’s own nomination for Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series.

“We’re both gonna be winners that night,” Kate says. “Wait and see.”

“Whatever you say, Kate-stradamus,” you say, rolling your eyes before kissing her.

***

Emmy night comes sooner than you think. It’s not the first year you’ve attended. But it’s your first year attending as an individual nominee.

Thankfully, Kate’s experience in such shoes helps keep you somewhat steady through red carpet. And it’s easy to pose for the camera next to her and look at her like she’s the best person in the world. Partly because she is.

Interviews split time between Kate’s nomination for SNL and your nomination for “Eulogy.” Some questions directed towards you are harder to answer than others, but Kate’s hand at the small of your back keeps you grounded.

You’re seated in front of John Mulaney and his lovely wife, Annamarie. Lots of opportunities to turn your head and glare at your competition, with him returning the stink-eye full force. (Annamarie, however, offers you a warm smile, which you return in earnest.)

Kate’s category comes earlier in the ceremony. Names are read. When hers is announced, she pulls a face for the camera before returning the smile you give her.

“And the Emmy goes to…” The envelope is opened. “…Kate McKinnon, ‘Saturday Night Live.’”

A hand immediately goes to her mouth, for just a moment as you hug her, whispering “I told you” in her ear. She kisses you briefly before standing to walk up to the stage. You applaud and cheer with the crowd as she hugs the presenters, takes the award, faces the microphone.

Her list of thank you’s goes in the following order: the Academy, Lorne, cast, writers, a couple of people she does impressions of on the show, family.

Then she thanks you. “My beautiful…cast member, friend, partner, love of my life.” If you hadn’t already been tearing up, her next words definitely bring the tears. “I want to partly dedicate this to her father, and thank him for bring her into this world so I could meet and fall in love with her. I miss you every day and wish I’d had the opportunity to call you my father-in-law, and I kinda hope that you and my Pop are hanging out in the afterlife and watching your daughters crush it on live TV week after week.” As Kate speaks, you feel John pat your shoulder lightly, and as the music plays her off, you turn to look at him, thank him and return his smile as best you can.

It’s a while before your category comes up. When it does, and Bill Hader walks out to present it, you reach for Kate’s hand, glancing over to smile at her before turning your attention back to Bill’s succinct intro to the nominees.

Names of the programs are given before a short clip from each one plays. From yours, the producers chose the line about you coming out, and your father’s response. Brief applause at the end of the names.

“And the Emmy goes to…” Bill opens the envelope. Smiles at the name listed. Raises his head to say your name into the microphone.

Your turn to cover your mouth, resist the urge to cover your entire face and collapse into a puddle. You rise on shaky legs and turn to accept a hug from Mulaney, turning to kiss Kate briefly before walking up to the stage, clutching at the skirt of your dress so tight you fear permanent wrinkles or ripping.

The moment you reach Bill, he hugs you longer than any other presenter has hugged a nominee, kissing the top of your head, and there’s something symbolic in it…that a man who’s played your father in two sketches is the one to present you an award for a show written about your real father.

“Oh god…” you half-laugh, half-sob into the microphone. “Oh…this really should have gone to John Mulaney or literally anyone else in the category. They were all funny-funny, not sad-funny. Um…” You wipe away a tear with a shaky hand as the audience laughs. “Thanks to them, for the laughs. Thanks to the Academy. Thanks to my director, my producers, the tech people, everyone involved. Thank you, Lorne Michaels, everyone else at SNL. Thank you, Kate. I love you more than I know how to say. You’ve been my rock through this entire chapter of life. Um…” You look down at the award. “God, this is so…bittersweet…because it took a devastating loss for me to be standing here. And…something I’ve been asked a lot tonight is what my dad would say about tonight if he could be here. And the truth is, this wouldn’t be happening if he WAS here. And…” You pause. “I would give this up in a heartbeat,” you hold up the award, “if it meant getting a few more years with my dad. I didn’t go into writing ‘Eulogy’ expecting accolades. I wrote it as a way to cope. As a better way to memorialize my father. I am truly thankful for this honor, but it comes with a lot of mixed feelings. Dad…I miss you, and I love you, and I know you’re watching over me right now and saying something like ‘Kiddo, I love you and your show is great, but Mulaney DEFINITELY deserved the win over you.’”

You raise the award to the laughing and cheering (and some probably crying) crowd and giving them your thanks again before walking offstage next to Bill.

The minute the two of you are completely off, he hugs you tight, and you hide your face in his suit as you cry from just…how overwhelming this entire night has been. You know SOMEONE’S getting a picture of the moment, and it’s bound to turn up in a Buzzfeed article or something tomorrow, of the best behind-the-scenes moments from the Emmys. People are bound to argue that you didn’t deserve the award, you only won it because of the “dead dad” factor.

You honestly don’t care. You just…kind of want to skip out on the rest and go home.

***

You and Kate end up skipping out on most of the afterparty fun, only showing up for a few photo ops with friends before heading home.

You curl up together on the couch in pajamas with Nino and talk about moments from the ceremony. Surprise wins, other wins that weren’t surprises, jokes that landed, jokes that fell flat, who looked great, who didn’t.

“…you know you deserved it, babe,” Kate says, kissing your forehead. “You should be more proud of your work. They wouldn’t have given it to you if you hadn’t deserved it.”

“Hmm…” You kiss the space beneath her jaw, whatever you can reach of it from where you lay against her.

“…can I talk to you about something regarding your dad?” Kate says after a few long moments of quiet. You look up at her, push yourself more upright.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“It’s about…the last day I went to see him,” Kate begins. “When he’d asked to talk to me alone. And…I didn’t know for a while if I should share with you what he said.

“Kate, you don’t have to—”

“No, I want to. I think…I think it’s okay.” She pushed herself more upright, this discussion warranting more than relaxation. “So, um…” She laughs, a little sound that could also pass for a sob. “He’d told me that…he knew how much I loved you and…if there was anything he really regretted, it was not living long enough to watch us…continue to live together. To…maybe get married. To walk you down the aisle.” You reach up to wipe away a tear from Kate’s cheek, even as tears well in your eyes. “And he said I had his blessing, if I ever did want to marry you. He wanted to give that to me before he died.”

“Kate…”

“I don’t…have a ring or anything. Not yet. But…” She looks up at you. “And I’m not…officially asking yet. Not unless you want this to be the official ask. But…I love you…SO much…and I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and hold you when you cry, and try to ease your pain, and kiss you and make you smile and make you laugh and help you write more award-winning things and—”

“Kate,” you giggle through your tears.

“I want all of that with you for the rest of forever, married or no. I have since, like, our second date. But…if I have your father’s blessing to marry you, I’d be a damn fool to let that go to waste.”

“Kate…” You cup her face in your hands. “You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me and…I can’t imagine what the last several months would have been like without you by my side. I know it’s been…a lot…and I know there will be more hardships…and hardships of your own…and I want to help you through those like you’ve helped me. I want to be there through every tear, every laugh, every fight, every kiss, every good thing, every bad thing, I want EVERYTHING with you. And even if my dad’s not physically there…even IF I end up recruiting Bill to walk me down the aisle…” Kate laughs through her tears. “I want to marry you. Nothing would make me happier than marrying you. I’m so ridiculously in love with you.”

It’s a very wet kiss, given how much the two of you have been crying. There’s no ring. But a proposal could not have been more perfect, all things considered.

“…kinda wish I’d said all this before red carpet,” Kate says after a longer kiss. “Then I could’ve added ‘and I’m totally gonna marry her’ to my speech.”

“I think the comment about you wishing you could’ve called my dad your father-in-law may be interpreted as a hint by some,” you point out.

“True.” She kisses you again.

“Guess we’ll just have to break the news through a publicist, like other couples,” you sigh.

“Yeah, we can worry about that tomorrow,” Kate says before kissing you again. Then words kinda…go by the wayside in favor of more late-night kissing.

***

So…you’re now an award-winning comedienne, sort-of engaged to another award-winning comedienne.

Life could definitely be worse.

True, life has been better. But it’s also definitely been worse.

**Author's Note:**

> i have not yet had to deal with the grief of losing my father. just a grandfather. but watching my mom grieve was...difficult, to say nothing of my own grief at the time. to anyone who has lost a parent, i hope father's day is no longer as painful as it once was.
> 
> feedback welcome and appreciated.


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